


However Narrow and Crooked

by leupagus



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Real World, Alternate Universe - War, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-06-01 01:52:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6496183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leupagus/pseuds/leupagus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It took another two weeks before Poe could break into the hospital again; somehow the truce and the tender-footed peace talks meant more security around the Prince, not less, and the new guards were fearsomely difficult to bribe. He ended up having to take advantage of a third-story window in the middle of the night, which wasn’t at all his idea of a good entrance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	However Narrow and Crooked

It took another two weeks before Poe could break into the hospital again; somehow the truce and the tender-footed peace talks meant _more_ security around the Prince, not less, and the new guards were fearsomely difficult to bribe. He ended up having to take advantage of a third-story window in the middle of the night, which wasn’t at all his idea of a good entrance.

Still, he was halfway inside before a cough indicated he’d been spotted. “I would ask if I could lend you a hand,” Luke said from the comfort of a rather nice-looking bed, “But—“ and he gestured rather eloquently with the wrapped-up remains of his right arm.

Poe had already seen it before, when the blood kept seeping through the bandages and he thought perhaps that Luke would die before he opened his eyes again, before Poe could tell him—

“I cannot _believe_ you were so foolish,” Poe said instead, climbing in the rest of the way and slamming the window shut. “You walked into the middle of a minefield. _A minefield_! You might have have lost your head — for all I know, perhaps you did!”

Luke’s smile did little to convince Poe that he was paying much attention. His skin still had too pale a sheen to it, but he was sitting up and there was a book on his lap — probably yet another one of his foul novels he consumed like sweets — and his smile could have shone across the ocean, beckoning ships to their doom. “I thought you were in the building,” he said, wrapping his left arm around Poe (and when had Poe gotten close enough to touch him? He couldn’t recall), his hand warm and broad at the base of Poe’s spine. “I thought I’d lost you.”

“You did _lose_ , technically.” He meant it in jest, a tease to his dearest foe, but Luke’s eyes grew dark and serious.

“I would have lost more, rather than lose you.” His arm tightened and drew Poe ever closer, so that it was the most natural thing in the world for Poe to bend down and press his mouth to Luke’s, the way he had all those years ago in a forgotten prison on the outskirts of the kingdom.

Yet it was not quite the same; Poe was no longer the reckless boy-pilot and Luke no longer some mere colonel in the ranks. They had fought and killed and mourned, sought each other over the endless stretch of trenches and death that now marred their beloved country. Poe was now a general and Luke a prince, and they would wear the scars of this war for the rest of their lives, not symbols of pride but reminders of loss. They had found each other at the worst possible moment and survived long enough for this, now, and whatever kisses they bestowed upon each other now could only begin fill the need that had been for so long unmet.

Luke pulled him down on top of him, hissing in annoyance when the damned book dug into his hip. Poe had little sympathy as he plucked the book out from between them. “You and your terrible taste,” he muttered, breaking away to glare down at the cover. “ _The Legend of Prince Valiant_?”

“Please try not to lose my place,” Luke replied, his hand carding through Poe’s hair.

In answer, Poe dropped the book on the floor and returned to his careful study of Luke’s mouth. Luke enjoyed soft bites at his bottom lip and deep kisses that stole his breath, and if his body’s response was any indication, he liked very much that Poe was pressing him down into the mattress, pinning him neatly. “I want,” he said, and could not think of a word for what he wanted.

But Luke only said “Yes, _yes_ , please,” and Poe shuddered to hear a plea from him, from the new heir to the crown and one day his king but already his master. The sheets and blankets, the clothes between them, seemed intolerable barriers when all he wanted was skin and heat and Luke beneath him, pleading.

He pushed himself up to his knees, relishing the flash of dismay on Luke’s face as he pulled away from him. It was the work of a moment to rid himself of his jacket and shirt, and worth that and more to see Luke’s eyes go dark. Poe tugged down the covers, past Luke’s knees, mindful of the cut on his thigh that must still smart, though Luke gave no indication of any pain. And Poe could see why, Luke’s arousal clearly outlined in the — Poe smirked. “Are these _silk_?” he asks, spreading his hands down Luke’s thighs and up to his hips, his thumbs tracing circles at the base of Luke’s cock.

Luke seemed torn between glaring and gasping, and Poe took pity on his lord and pressed his palm against the hot shaft for a moment, gripping it through the silk as Luke bucked into his touch. “Please,” Luke said again, and Poe worried that he might like such begging too well.

“As you command,” he replied.

Luke laughed, a beautiful sound after all these years, and reached out to Poe, pulling him down again. He fumbled awkwardly at Poe’s trousers, his hand brushing against Poe’s cock. “If these are regulation, I’ll _eat_ that book,” he complained.

“Just because you are at a disadvantage, your highness—“ Poe began, but Luke bit his neck in warning, his mouth wet and dangerous against the pulse.

“If you _ever_ call me that again,” he warned, and succeeded in undoing the buckle at last. Poe was tempted to help him, but his own hands were busy in Luke’s hair, holding him at that spot on his throat and tugging him back up for another kiss. Luke’s right arm bumped against his hip, shifting him for a moment, and Luke made a satisfied noise against his mouth as he unbuttoned the front of Poe’s trousers, shoving them down just past his hips.

“Never mind,” Poe managed as Luke arched beneath him, their cocks flush together, “You seem to have a — god almighty — an admirable grasp already.”

“That was a terrible joke,” Luke informed him, but Poe was able to change the subject with an idle thrust that wrenched a heartfelt groan from both of them.

“You,” Poe gasped, pressing down and in, his shaft slick alongside Luke’s, wet and hot and unbelievable. He stared down at Luke, whose head was flung back, eyes squeezed shut as though everything but sensation was lost to him in that moment. He was beautiful, shockingly so, and Poe buried his face in the join of Luke’s shoulder because if he watched Luke for another moment he himself would be spent too early.

That was a tactical error, for it brought his mouth up against the skin at Luke’s collarbone, and the taste of it on his tongue — the knowledge that _he_ had reduced Luke Skywalker to this, to sweat and desire and need — pushed him over. He came in a rush against Luke’s stomach and the ridiculous silk pajamas, half-laughing at his own eagerness. Luke kissed him through it, his hand at Poe’s hip, soothing, and as Poe came back to himself he could think of no better peacetime occupation than this, to be here in Luke’s arms, adored and adoring.

Luke was still hard and unfinished against Poe’s thigh, and Poe wrapped his hand around him once more, wishing he had thought to bring something more than just his impatience and worry along with him on this visit. “Please, Luke, for me,” he whispered, and now he could watch Luke come undone in his arms, watch him worry at his lip with his teeth, watch his eyes grow wide and astonished as he came in Poe’s hand. It was messy and gorgeous, both of them undignified and spent against each other.

After a few moments, Luke struggled out from under Poe and propped himself up on his left elbow, using his right arm to brush his sweat-slicked hair out of his face as he cast his eyes along Poe’s body. Poe, for his part, was more than content to lie back amongst the ludicrous number of pillows, his trousers somewhere around his knees, boots still on his feet. He felt thoroughly debauched, and did not mind that he appeared so. But Luke’s examination was a lengthy one, as though absorbing every detail, and at last Poe made an interrogatory sound.

“I am just thinking,” Luke replied, “What it might take to ensure you don’t try to run away this time.”

Poe laughed. He sat up to unlace his boots, letting them fall to the floor with a double thumping noise. “I have an entire list of demands,” he assured Luke, and dragged the covers over them both.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a quick snippet written for wobblycompetencies and jellyfishfire after they'd posted a fantabulous exchange where they [discussed how a Luke/Poe war romance](http://leupagus.tumblr.com/post/138940880943/wobblycompetencies-because-apparently) could possibly go. I, being the consummate cheater that I am, wrote the ending without anything else.
> 
> Title taken from a quote by Henry David Thoreau: "Pursue some path, however narrow and crooked, in which you can walk with love and reverence."


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